Anderson vs Watson
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: It's a Honey 'Verse five and one. The five times Anderson saw John and the one time he met him (officially). It spans from when Sherlock is five to just after John comes home. Rating is for language and some violence.
1. The First Time

**Disclaimer: Hmm, I think I might own them…in a parallel universe maybe, but not here. Darn it!**

**A/N: I don't know Anderson's first name so I gave him an ugly one to match his personality. (Apologies to any Humphrey's reading this.) This is a five and one. Warnings for language and a bit of violence. Please hit the button to leave me fruit…er, a review. Thanks.**

**The First Time**

The first time Humphrey Anderson saw John Watson they were ten years old. Later Humphrey wouldn't recall this meeting and neither would John, not really. John would remember losing Sherlock at the zoo but only vaguely the greasy haired boy that insulted and injured Sherlock while he was lost.

Humphrey Anderson tried to contain his excitement at this field trip. It wasn't at all cool to be ten years old and excited about going to the zoo. He stood in the line with some other boys from his class while the teachers spoke with the ticket taker. The other boys weren't his friends, they constantly picked on him but today he would impress them all with how much he knew about the animals. He would show them that he wasn't dumb and uncool. Then they'd all want to be his friend and they wouldn't pick on him anymore.

His attention was taken from his daydreams as a woman and two boys jumped the queue. He scowled, he hated when people did that. They thought that the world revolved around them and that they were better than everyone else. One day he'd show all the people like that, the people like his father, that they were all wrong. They weren't better than anyone else and he'd take them all down a peg or ten.

"John! John! John!" The younger of the two boys exclaimed while swinging on the hand of the older. "Can we see the bees today, John? Please?"

Humphrey snorted to himself. Not only was it the wrong season for bees but the London zoo didn't have a bee preserve or whatever they were called.

"It's wintertime, Sherlock," the older boy, who had to be this John, said with a small smile. "No bees right now."

"Why not?" The boy, Sherlock, had a fierce scowl on his face now.

"Because they're sleeping right now, Sherlock. We'll go see them in the spring, I promise."

"Spoiled," Humphrey snorted out loud this time but no one heard him as the teachers called for them to line up to go through the gate. From the corner of his eye he saw the two boys and the woman he presumed was their mother walk past the gate with a nod to the ticket takers. Figured, they didn't even have to show any tickets. A couple of spoiled little rich boys, just like he'd thought.

Humphrey trailed after the rest of his class for the rest of the morning. He had tried to tell everyone about the giraffes and their habits but no one listened. At the rhino exhibit he'd tried again and the largest of the boys had pushed him to make him shut up. The hippos were his last resort but this time one of the girl's had whispered something to one of her friends while he was talking and she in turn had told the girl next to her and soon everyone was laughing at something and sneering at him. He shut up then and spent the rest of the morning glaring at everyone and kicking at the fences of the enclosures. He hated them all.

At the restaurant they went to for lunch, Humphrey saw the boys again. They were quietly sitting at a table by the windows, alone. Where was their mother?

Just as the thought crossed his mind she appeared bearing trays of food and drink. Humphrey scowled again. Of course their mother waited on them, not like his own mother who was too lost in a bottle to even remember that she had a son most days.

"Thank you, Mum. Food, Sherlock," the older boy, Humphrey couldn't remember his name, said to the younger. "Time to eat."

"Busy," Sherlock said curtly.

"Don't care," the other boy returned evenly. "You'll eat or we'll go home and you can take a nap."

Sherlock shot the boy a betrayed look but took one of his fish fingers anyway. "I'm not tired." He pouted.

"You will be if you don't eat," the older boy warned.

"Listen to John, Sherlock." The woman said intervening before the two boys could start what looked to be a massive bickering session.

"Yes, Aunt Cecelia." Sherlock scowled and snapped up a bite of his fish fingers, his attention wandering to the window again.

"Thank you," John said and smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock shifted his eyes to John and nodded with a small smile.

Humphrey collected his own food and sat as far away from them as he could, resentment and hatred for these unknown boys burning in his stomach. It just wasn't fair that they had so much and each other too, while he had nothing and no one to care about him.

Soon after he'd sat down with his food, his class was called to gather together for the next exhibit and Humphrey lost track of the boys. It was three o'clock before their paths crossed again and the field trip was almost over. They were at the last exhibit of the day, the penguins. Humphrey wasn't all that enthused about penguins even though all the girls cooed over how cute they were and the boys laughed about how they played.

"Have you seen my John?" The voice came from right behind him and he whirled around to find the younger boy, the one with the funny name that Humphrey couldn't remember right then, addressing Eddie, one of the least repulsive of the boys in his class if only because he was an outcast too. The other boys didn't pick on Eddie as much as they did Humphrey but they did pick on him.

Eddie pushed his glasses up on his nose and stared at the boy. "No, I'm sorry, I haven't. Are you lost?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "No." He told Eddie curtly and then he turned to Humphrey. "Have you seen him?"

Humphrey sneered. "No. Go ask someone else."

The boy scowled at him before Eddie cut in. "Why don't we go find a teacher? Maybe one of them has seen John."

The boy shook his head. "They'll only want to notify security and then I'll never find my John. He'll find me if I stay here."

"How do you know he'll find you here?" Humphrey scoffed. "You're just a little kid, how could you possibly know what he'll do and I've seen him he's maybe the same age as me and wouldn't know where to look. The zoo's a big place he'll run around and get lost himself."

"My John always finds me," the boy said furiously. "You said you hadn't seen him."

"I saw him earlier at lunch," Humphrey said scornfully. Quick as a striking snake he reached out and grabbed the boy's collar and began towing him towards the teachers. "Mrs. Jonas! Mrs. Jonas! This little baby got lost and can't find his mummy."

"Let me go, you cretin!" The boy shouted as he struggled against Humphrey's hold. "You're hurting me!"

"I am not," Humphrey huffed trying to avoid flailing fists. One of them got through and suddenly pain exploded on his face. "Ow! You little shit!" He quickly let go and put a hand up to his nose, it came away covered in blood. "You vile little fucker! You hit me!" He advanced on the boy intent to cause him bodily harm.

"Humphrey Anderson!" Mrs. Jonas screeched out before the fist he'd raised had time to connect with the brat's face. "You stop that right now! What do you think you're doing?"

"He hit me, Mrs. Jonas! Look!" He pointed at his nose that was dripping blood down his lips.

"Well, you shouldn't have been dragging him like that," Eddie told him. "He grabbed the kid by his collar and was just dragging him along, Mrs. Jonas."

The boy watched them with wide eyes and a hand rubbing his throat. Mrs. Jonas took one look at him and frowned at Humphrey. "I will be reporting this to the Headmaster and your parents, Mr. Anderson." She turned back to the boy. "Are you all right, dear?"

He nodded. "Fine." He croaked out.

"You don't sound it, dear," Mrs. Jonas kneeled in front of him. "Where are your parents?"

The boy scowled fiercely. "Home," his voice was still hoarse.

"He was looking for someone named John," Eddie said helpfully. "Apparently John got lost."

"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Jonas said. "We'll let security know and they'll find your John for you."

"Sherlock," rang out a young voice as Mrs. Jonas stood back up. "Sherlock! Are you in here?"

The boy's face lit up with a grin. "John!" He yelled his voice was still slightly rough but still clear enough for the older boy, the blond, John to shoulder his way through the students and to Sherlock's side. "You found me."

"I'll always find you, Sherlock." The blond boy pulled Sherlock into his arms. "You scared me."

Sherlock buried his head in John's chest. "Sorry, John."

"It's all right now, Sherlock. I'm here. I found you."

"This is the John you were looking for, dear?" Mrs. Jonas asked astonished. "Oh dear. Where are your parents, dear? Why aren't you in school?" She asked John.

"Our tutor is sick. Obviously." Sherlock scorned her.

"My mum is at the security office and then she'll come here to retrieve us. I told her I was coming here to check for Sherlock." He gave Mrs. Jonas a polite smile and then gently pushed Sherlock away from his chest and inspected his throat. His smile faded to be replaced with a murderous expression. "Who did this?" He growled out. His gaze flew around the gathered students before finally settling on Humphrey. Humphrey swallowed hard; it suddenly didn't matter that this boy was at least three inches shorter than him. That glare made him want to curl up in the fetal position and cry for his mummy. John's icy gaze took in the bloody nose and fearful expression and then he nodded with a malicious grin. "Good shot, Sherlock."

Humphrey, scared of the older boy or not, glared hatefully at Sherlock. This was all his fault. He never got the chance to vent his frustration at the boy though as John's mother chose that moment to enter the penguin enclosure with two security guards. While Mrs. Jonas assured them that everything was fine, now anyway, Eddie turned to John and Sherlock.

"How did you know he'd find you here? And how did you find him here?" Eddie asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. John however smiled softly. "Easy." He stated. "The penguins are my favorite."

That made no sense whatsoever and it bugged Humphrey all the way home. Mrs. Jonas had informed the Headmaster who had in turn told his mother though she was too drunk to care that her son was suspended for three days and banned from all field trips for the rest of the year and now that he was home Humphrey went to his room, slammed his door and nursed his hatred for the two boys whose names he'd already forgotten.

Everything bad that had happened to day was that little brat's fault.

Scorecard: Watson: 1; Anderson: 0


	2. The Second Time

**Disclaimer: The Easter Bunny finally called me back. He said if BBC wouldn't sell him the rights to Sherlock then why would he give them to me? I don't think I like him much anymore. I mean really, what kind of bunny lays eggs and then gives them to little kids and expects them to eat them and be grateful? Yeah, Sherlock and co. are still not mine. Stupid bunny. I'm having rabbit stew for dinner. **

**A/N: I've had a few reviewers and others (family and friends) that have said that they feel sorry for Anderson. When I wrote that first chapter so did I. At ten his personality wasn't fully formed and he was just acting the way he'd seen his parents act. That's normal. However, I am a firm believer in making our own choices. I am not my mother and my daughter is not me. Anderson chose how he treated Sherlock in the show for whatever reason. This Anderson is choosing how he treats people and he's choosing the wrong way. He does know the difference he just doesn't care. I do have plans for Anderson where he will learn the error of his ways but not for a while. Enjoy the chapter!**

**The Second Time**

The second time Humphrey Anderson saw John Watson they were seventeen. Later, Humphrey wouldn't remember but John would. Well, he hadn't found out the boy's name, the one that teased Sherlock while he was inside speaking with the proctor about where to send his results, but he would never forget an insult to Sherlock and he would never forgive one either.

Humphrey Anderson left the building where they were holding the exams angry. It was a stupid test to force people to take anyway. He'd seen that blond boy breeze through with barely a thought to the questions on the exam while he'd struggled through them.

He was willing to bet that the blond hadn't known the answers either and had just written down whatever because he knew that his father would buy his way into the college. Humphrey really hated people like that, the kind of people that just floated through life and never gave an ounce of effort to anything. They all thought they were so much better than him just because he had to work for everything.

He kicked the door open with a great deal more force than necessary and nearly hit a tall boy standing just outside them. "Move," he snarled.

The boy's grey eyes flashed but he looked over Humphrey's head, sighed and moved to the side of the door. The way he'd just dismissed Humphrey's presence irritated the older boy greatly. No one dismissed Humphrey Anderson out of hand.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Humphrey snarled. "You're far too young to be taking the exams."

The dark haired boy rolled his eyes. He looked vaguely familiar but Humphrey couldn't quite place him and so stopped thinking about it. "Obviously I'm waiting for someone," the boy drawled in that posh voice that just set Humphrey's teeth on edge.

"Who're you waiting for then, little boy? Your mummy?" Humphrey scoffed. The boy ignored him again and turned to hop up on the retaining wall lining the entrance of the building. "I asked you a question, little boy." Humphrey growled.

The boy's attention swung back to him and he gazed at Humphrey stonily. "Did you?"

"Who are you waiting for?" Humphrey snarled and advanced on the boy. He was going to show this kid what happened to people that disrespected him.

The kid merely lifted a brow at him. "Why do you want to know?"

Humphrey took another step forward hoping to intimidate the boy into submission. "Because little boys shouldn't be alone. They need to be with their mummies, so that their mummies can wipe their snotty little noses. Where is your mummy, little boy?"

"Sherlock! Are you out here?" A voice interrupted them. "I have a question for you. Oh, there you are." Humphrey spun around and spotted the blond that had breezed through the test heading towards them. "Everything all right, Sherlock?" The blond eyed Humphrey suspiciously.

The boy jumped off the wall and strode over to the blond. "Fine, John, you said you had a question?"

"Hm? Oh! Right," the blond, John, took his eyes off Humphrey and looked at the paper in his hand. "What Germanic Classical Romantic Composer wrote _Missa Sacra_ in 1852?"

"You can't possibly think he'll know that!" Humphrey exploded. "I love classical music and I didn't know that one!"

John looked at him again. "He does know." He said simply. "And now he's going to tell me."

"What did you write down?" The dark haired boy, Sherlock, asked.

John rolled hazel eyes. "Well, I put Schumann because I remembered that he wrote Fantasy in C for the violin. I think I remember you saying he wrote _Missa Sacra_ too."

"You did put Robert Schumann didn't you, John?" Sherlock asked sharply. "There are two Schumann's after all."

"There are not," Humphrey cut in. "Robert Schumann was the only Germanic Romantic Classical composer. Anyone with half a brain knows that, stupid."

John straightened up and fixed Humphrey in a steely glare. "Any idiot knows that Robert Schumann was married to Clara Schumann who was also a composer. And don't call Sherlock stupid, idiot."

Sherlock grabbed John's arm. "Was that the only question?"

John turned back to the boy. "Yes, I knew all the others already but I wasn't sure on that one so I thought I'd ask you."

Sherlock grinned. "You were right. Now let's go, you promised to take me to the bee farm today."

"So I did," John nodded and led Sherlock away, Humphrey and his insults forgotten for the moment.

Humphrey scowled after them. John had to be lying. He couldn't possibly have known all the answers. Spoiled little rich boys, everything in life handed to them.

Scorecard: Watson: 2; Anderson: 0


	3. The Third Time

**Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were Moriarty would have shivered in terror the first time he caught sight of John and then he would have run away. Everyone knows that John's a BAMF of the first order.**

**The Third Time**

The third time Humphrey Anderson saw John Watson they were twenty one and he would bear the scars for the rest of his life. John wouldn't remember his name but he would never forget the incident.

Humphrey Anderson was angry. He was always angry though. This time he was epically angry. His girlfriend had just found out about his piece on the side. He could not understand why she was so upset about it though. He still wanted to marry Alice she just wasn't that satisfying in bed. She couldn't actually expect him to remain faithful to her. No one was faithful, everyone cheated.

On top of his girlfriend's scorn and sorrow and anger he'd just been told that if he didn't bring his grades up he would lose his scholarship. He couldn't believe how utterly stupid his professors were. They had no idea how difficult it was to keep up with his classes when he had to deal with all the crap in his life. It wasn't like any of them had ever had to apply for and live off of a scholarship.

They didn't have to work for every scrap of comfort and money. It just wasn't fair that everyone else had it so easy and he, Humphrey, had to strive and struggle. He worked hard, dammit! He studied for an hour every other evening. None of the other men in his dorm studied at all. They were always going off to the library or other euphemisms for parties and dates they didn't want Humphrey to know about.

Due to his anger Humphrey wasn't watching where he was going and ended up knocking down a tall dark haired boy that looked vaguely familiar. "Would you watch where you are going, stupid?" He growled at the boy.

The boy picked himself up off the ground and then hefted the box he'd been carrying up. "I will if you will, idiot." His face remained passive but his voice was derisive and posh. Humphrey hated him instantly.

"What did you say?" Humphrey advanced on the boy and tried to loom over him. The boy however was taller than him by at least three inches and straightened his back, refusing to be intimidated.

The boy gazed at him with shrewd and strange silvery grey eyes for a moment before saying sweetly. "I didn't realize you were deaf. My hands are rather full at the moment or I would sign it for you. Can you read lips?" Those weird eyes widened in a parody of interested innocence.

"I am not deaf, stupid!" Humphrey shouted. This boy, who shouldn't be here anyway this was a university for God's sake, was so stupid. Did he really believe Humphrey was deaf?

"Then you heard what I said perfectly well." He sniffed disparagingly. The boy tried to move past him but Humphrey wasn't finished with him yet and pushed him back, hands forcing the box hard into his chest. "Don't do that again," the boy warned in a cold voice.

"Or you'll do what?" Humphrey sneered and pushed the boy again, just because he could. "Run crying to Mummy?"

The boy cocked his head to the side considering Humphrey's words seriously. "No." He shook his head. "Mother may be a black belt in Aikido but she draws the line at picking fights with those weaker than herself. I'll take care of you myself. It's not as though I need assistance in swatting at an irritating fly."

They had drawn a bit of a crowd now. "Leave the kid alone, Anderson," a voice called out from somewhere.

"Humphrey, must you pick on everyone?" That voice he knew. That was Alice. "Let the kid alone, Humphrey Anderson. He hasn't done anything to you."

The boy looked from Humphrey to Alice and back again. "Your girlfriend?" He asked suddenly interested. "She's aesthetically pleasing, surprisingly."

"Don't you insult Alice!" Humphrey shouted and pushed the boy again, harder this time, causing him to stumble backwards and drop the box.

"God, Humphrey, you're such an arse!" Alice yelled. "It was a compliment." She turned to the boy. "Thank you!" She flashed him a bright smile and then turned back to Humphrey. Her smile vanished and she glared at him. "We're finished! I never want to see you again!" She turned away from them and stomped through the crowd.

The boy watched her go before turning back to face Humphrey. "Guess she's not now." His tone was just the slightest bit mocking.

Humphrey saw red. This little shit had just made his girlfriend break up with him and now he was mocking him. It just wasn't fair and it was all the boy's fault.

As the boy bent down to retrieve the box he let his fist fly with all his strength straight into the boy's face. The boy fell back to the ground, blood blooming on his cheek from Humphrey's class ring. Humphrey didn't even have time to smirk in triumph before a scream full of primal rage reached him and he was hit by what felt like a lorry.

Grunts and furious panting breaths filled the air and Humphrey couldn't make sense of all the sensations flooding into him. The only thing he could make sense of was the pain.

"John! Stop!" A voice rang out and the punches stopped but the pain stayed. The lorry's weight was lifted from him and he thought he heard applause but he couldn't be sure.

"You all right, Sherlock?" A rough voice asked.

His last sight before he lost consciousness was a blond man helping the boy to his feet and checking his cheek.

Scorecard: Watson: 4 (one extra because he knocked Anderson out); Anderson: 0.5 (because he actually got a punch in)


	4. The Fourth Time

**Disclaimer: I own many things. Including two teenagers (if one can own their children), I'll trade them for Lestrade or Sherlock and John. Any takers? Nope. That's what I thought. Darn. That means Sherlock and co. are still not mine. L**

**A/N: I apologize for any confusion from yesterday. Anderson did not get 5 points he got 0.5 points. That small error has been fixed. Enjoy.**

**Once again I'm not British so if there are any mistakes let me know. Also this is an AU. Everyone is OOC. Sherlock's relationship with Mycroft is better than in canon simply because John has always been around to mitigate both Sherlock's abrasive nature and Mycroft's overprotectiveness. John keeps Sherlock from being so angry with Mycroft all the time and keeps Mycroft from worrying about Sherlock. While John was gone Sherlock and Mycroft did have some difficulties that will come up in a later story but with John's return they work those difficulties out. **

**One last note. I do not agree with Anderson's thoughts. Though I realize that's a rather duh statement I thought it should be said. He's a dick. I wanted you to dislike him so I made him rather more a dick than normal. That said: enjoy the story.**

**The Fourth Time**

The fourth time Humphrey Anderson saw John Watson they were twenty seven and he couldn't understand why the blond soldier was glaring at him. John did know and he still had a grudge against the other man. How dare that arse show up here on this day? The last few minutes he had to spend with Sherlock before he shipped out and he was being forced to look at that ugly, cruel face. Though the faint scar above the greasy haired man's right eyebrow did make him smirk a bit.

Humphrey wasn't close enough to hear what the dark haired man standing next to the soldier was saying but obviously it was something to lighten his mood as the blond threw his head back and laughed. Humphrey turned to his wife and kissed her good bye on the cheek as he always did. She was leaving for a meeting in America and wouldn't be back for at least a week which gave him plenty of time to find a new girlfriend as the old one had objected to sleeping with a married man once she found out about Francine.

Humphrey couldn't help himself. He had to look back at the pair. Something about them seemed vaguely familiar. He sniffed in disgust as the dark haired man leaned down and kissed the soldier. How revolting.

"What is it, Humphrey?" Francine asked in that irritating voice of hers. His father had been right. Women, wives were a necessary evil and nothing more.

"Nothing dear," Humphrey shook his head. "Just two deviants snogging in public. Someone should do something about them." He sniffed in derision again.

"Oh?" Francine swiveled her head around looking for the deviants.

Humphrey sighed and pointed them out; they were still kissing of course. "Disgusting." Humphrey snorted. "And one of them a soldier too. What are they letting into our army these days?"

"Humphrey!" Francine smacked his chest, her nasal voice disapproving. "Be nice! I must go over there and tell them that I approve."

"What? No, Francine!" But he was too late; Francine had already bustled off towards the pair. He trailed along after her. He really didn't want his wife mixing with people like that but she was very independent. A fact he hated and loved at the same time. At least her independent nature led her to accept a job that kept her away from London for long periods of time.

By the time Francine had reached the spot where the pair had been the tall dark haired man was gone. Francine huffed in minor irritation but marched straight up to the blond soldier. "Excuse me, sir?" She called his attention to her quietly.

Hazel eyes fixed on her face. "Yes, ma'am?" He said politely.

"I just wanted to come over here and thank you," Francine gave him a wide smile, pleased with such good manners. "Was that your young man? Isn't he going to see you off?"

The blond soldier smiled boyishly. "Yes ma'am that was my husband. He got a text from his brother and had to be off. It's all right though, I don't mind. His brother needed his help. Thank me for what, ma'am?" He gave her a quizzical smile.

"Oh, you're so sweet." Francine gushed; Humphrey had to push down his urge to retch. "Thank you for fighting for us, of course." She tittered. "You're a very brave man."

"I'm not brave ma'am. I wanted to be a doctor and the service was the only way I could afford school." The blond blushed lightly as though embarrassed to admit to his circumstances. Humphrey felt a little bit of respect for him. This man wasn't spoiled at least, even if he was a deviant that shouldn't be allowed in public.

Francine gasped in surprised pleasure and took one of his hands between both of hers. "That's even better! Not only are you willing to risk your life for people you don't know you're going to save others that do the same. I'm so happy to have met you! Your husband is very lucky to have you."

"I'm the lucky one," the soldier sighed dreamily, his eyes cutting to the direction his husband had gone.

"Francine, you'll miss your plane," Humphrey cut in; this conversation was making him feel ill.

"Oh, right," Francine started and checked her watch. "Stay safe, doctor," she told the soldier and squeezed his hand one more time.

"Thank you ma'am. I'll try." He squeezed her hand back. "You do the same."

Francine giggled and turned around to head to her own gate.

Humphrey scowled over his shoulder at the soldier as his wife walked towards her gate. The soldier glared back, fury lighting his hazel eyes. Humphrey swallowed and hurried to catch up with Francine. That soldier was definitely scary.

Scorecard: Watson: 5; Anderson: 0.5


	5. The Fifth Time

**Disclaimer: Tried to get in touch with Moffat and Gatiss again yesterday. The BBC phone person hung up on me. Darn it! All I wanted was rights to Lestrade this time. Yeah they turned me down flat, I guess. So still not mine. I'll try again later.**

**The Fifth Time**

The fifth time Humphrey Anderson saw John Watson they were thirty one and he thought he should know the blond man standing next to the Psychopath and shaking DI Lestrade's hand like long lost brothers at the coffee shop down the street from the Yard. John did not see him which may have been a blessing as John had never learned the greasy haired man's name but he still remembered his venomous, scarred face.

Humphrey Anderson knew that he knew that blond man from somewhere but he couldn't remember, though a part of him wanted to run away from him. He ignored that part of himself especially since it was also the part that said cheating on Francine was not a good idea.

It wasn't all that surprising really that he didn't recognize the blond; the man had a forgettable face, not at all like the DI's rugged good looks or the Psychopath's elegant features. He was plain and boring which made the question of what he was doing with the DI and the Psychopath all the more intriguing.

He had to be a friend of the DI's since the Psychopath didn't have any friends. Humphrey would probably have felt sorry for the Psychopath if it weren't for the fact that he was such an arrogant, smug, unfeeling, uncaring psychopath. Humphrey hated him with the passion of a thousand exploding stars.

Humphrey had worked hard to pass his classes in university and get his medical degree. He had worked even harder to pass the tests to become a forensic technician for the Met. The Psychopath hadn't had to do anything and Lestrade hung off of his every word. The Psychopath didn't even have a degree! It was unfair!

Donovan called him the Freak but that didn't quite match up with what Humphrey had observed about him. He was a freak but it was more than that. The way he grinned delightedly at the corpses, the way he played with the dead at the lab at St. Bart's, the way he watched everyone so closely, all of that added up to dangerous and psychotic. Donovan was right, one day they'd be called to a homicide and the Psychopath would be the one that put the body there. Humphrey knew it would happen as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the east tomorrow.

Not wanting the three men to spot him, he sank back into the shadows lining the side of the building as they collected their coffees and sat at a table on the sidewalk near the building. Why they wanted to sit outside on such a chilly day was a mystery to him.

The blonde's back was to him and the DI was sitting in a chair that looked out on the street. Only the Psychopath might have the possibility of catching him eavesdropping but…well, never mind then. The Psychopath had just smirked at him. Stupid berk, he was always pointing out how smart he was.

Humphrey personally didn't think the Psychopath was anything special. Geniuses were fairly common. Most of them worked as something though. They didn't live off of trust funds and play at being detectives. Humphrey had respect for true geniuses but the Psychopath wasn't a true genius, he didn't try to make the world a better place with his intellect. No, the Psychopath would rather berate everyone at the Yard and then pretend to solve their cases for them.

The Psychopath couldn't possibly have been right all those times. However, Humphrey was never consulted on the veracity of the Psychopath's so-called deductions. Lestrade simply followed where the Psychopath pointed him and made an arrest. So what if every single case the Psychopath became involved in led to an arrest that later became a conviction? Humphrey would have led the DI there eventually.

Humphrey sank further back into the shadows, if the Psychopath told the others he was there then he'd slip down the alley and they would think that the Psychopath was either lying or losing his mind. Humphrey smirked at that thought. The DI's preoccupation with the Psychopath made no sense and if he thought him to be insane maybe he'd stop calling him into Humphrey's crime scenes.

Unfortunately between the traffic noise and his position against the wall of the mouth of the alley, Humphrey couldn't hear anything the three men were saying. He thought about trying to get closer so that he could figure out who the blond man was but another smirk from the Psychopath changed his mind and he sagged back against the wall again.

"You may come out now, Anderson," the DI called without turning to look at him.

"Is that who's been watching us?" The blond asked loudly. "I thought someone was watching us but I couldn't quite figure out from where."

"He's standing in the shadows of the alley behind you," the Psychopath said in that smug, irritating tone of his.

Humphrey expected the blond man to show some kind of irritation or anger at the Psychopath's tone but he only huffed a chuckle and shook his head. "I should have known."

"Yes, you should have," the Psychopath scoffed. "And you should have sensed him earlier, Lestrade."

"Yes, yes," Humphrey heard the DI sigh as he sped down the alley and away from the trio. "But we can't all be geniuses, genius."

To Humphrey's everlasting humiliation and relief by the time Monday rolled back around the DI seemed to have forgotten the incident. He was humiliated because even to his coworkers he was not worth mentioning and relieved that the DI wasn't angry or vindictive about being eavesdropped on.

The next time he saw the Psychopath the other man only smirked at him knowingly and then was distracted by the corpse on the floor.

Scorecard: Watson: 5 (Aw! John didn't get any points this time; he should really pay more attention); Anderson: 1.5 (he escaped John's detection)


	6. The First Introduction

**Disclaimer: Boring! Still not mine.**

**A/N: So this is the last chapter of Anderson vs. Watson. I hope you liked it. Leave a review and let me know how I'm doing. Enjoy the last chapter.**

**Sally Donovan has met John before this chapter happens. She likes him and through him gains a bit more understanding of Sherlock. She still doesn't like him and they will never be friends but she can respect him a bit more now. She's comfortable enough with the couple to tease them a little bit. The story where she meets John is in the works. Should be done in a few days.**

**The First Introduction**

The first time Humphrey Anderson met John Watson they were thirty five and he knew him at once for who and what he was. After all who else but the Psychopath's pet husband would show up at a crime scene with him? John eyed him for a moment and smiled politely but he gave Anderson the shivers. It was almost as if this short, unassuming man knew him and didn't like him at all. John remembered him and really didn't like him at all.

Not that it would matter to Anderson one way or the other; he didn't like the Psychopath's husband either. He couldn't remember ever talking to the man but he knew that he wouldn't like him even if he was the most pleasant, polite person on the planet. He was married to the Psychopath after all.

He'd known, of course, that the Psychopath's husband, James…Jerry…Jesse, some J name that Anderson had never cared to learn, was back from…well, somewhere. He didn't care about that either. He knew that the husband had been back for a few months but that the Psychopath was hiding him away and Anderson hadn't had a chance to see him yet. Lestrade hadn't called any drugs busts lately. Anderson wondered briefly why not and then just chalked it up to Lestrade's innate goodness. He was probably giving the Psychopath and his husband 'together time'. How Lestrade made DI with sensibilities like that he'd never know.

He could see the pair talking with Sally and he shuddered. Poor Sally, having to actually talk _to_ the Psychopath and his pet. He could see, even from here, the questioning looks she sent at the Husband mixed with the irritated looks at the Psychopath. Over the last few months, Sally didn't despise the Psychopath as much as she had. Anderson couldn't quite understand why but he was getting rather irritated with her. She used to be first in line to slang off the Psychopath with him but now she seemed to avoid the subject all together.

He suddenly remembered the coffee shop and knew then why the man hadn't exploded all over the Psychopath for his comment and why he had laughed instead. He was probably used to the Psychopath's comments.

"Anderson!" The DI shouted impatiently. For all his goodness, Lestrade was not a patient man.

Anderson shuddered. Now he was going to have to deal with the Psychopath _and _his pethusband, who were now standing with the DI on the stairs leading to the room with the body. Was his husband as smart as he was? Probably not but he did have to be insane. Only way anyone could put up with the Psychopath. Anderson sure couldn't stand him but then he was sane.

"What is he doing here?" Anderson snarled when he got closer to the trio. "We don't need him, Lestrade. He's only going to contaminate my crime scene!"

The Psychopath snorted and his pet husband turned around and gazed at him with a steely look in his eyes. That look reminded Anderson of pain and he couldn't remember why.

"Anderson, this is Dr. or Captain John Watson, Sherlock's husband," Lestrade introduced them.

"Watson-_Holmes_," the Psychopath interjected and started up the stairs. John, apparently that was the J name Anderson couldn't be bothered to remember, just shook his head and smiled after the man.

The blond smiled. "Yes, Sherlock, Dr. Watson-Holmes," he gave Anderson a polite smile but Anderson just scowled. Definitely a pet, then. Didn't even have his own opinions. Except for those cold eyes.

Those cold eyes and polite smile turned away from him and the man laboriously followed his husband up the stairs. He turned down Lestrade's offer of an arm and Anderson suddenly remembered that Dr. Watson was a soldier.

"I don't care if he's the Queen!" Anderson fought off an instinctive fear of this short man. Really, he didn't know why the short, unremarkable man should be so scary. There was nothing about him that was terrifying. "I don't want them on my crime scene!"

"We could…" the doctor started, turning his head towards Lestrade.

"No, I called you here and so far I'm the one in charge of this investigation. The day Anderson becomes lead then he can kick you off a crime scene, until then you stay." They had reached the top of the stairs now and Lestrade walked through the door with a sharp, warning look at Anderson. "Sherlock, what do you have?"

"Dr. John!" Sally called from the doorway.

"Excuse me," the blond man said and made his way, hobbling on his cane, over to the doorway. Anderson couldn't hear what they were saying and he didn't really care. He knew Sally wasn't interested in the doctor, she couldn't be. She probably felt sorry for him, being married to the Psychopath and all. She was probably giving him hobby ideas.

The Psychopath was kneeling down next to the body and Anderson stayed close to watch him. He was apt to steal evidence after all. "Donovan! I need my husband now." The Psychopath called.

Anderson watched as Sally put a restraining hand on the Husband's arm and turn to look at the Freak with an arch look. "What if I don't want to let him go?"

The Psychopath looked up from the body and his mouth twitched. On anyone else, Anderson would have said he was fighting a smile. But this was the Psychopath; only gruesomely dead bodies could make him smile. "Keep him then," the Psychopath called back. "He sings horribly in the shower and snores loud enough to wake the neighbors."

Sally scrunched up her nose. "Never mind then. I can't stand a man that snores." She gave the Husband a pat on the back and made her way back down the stairs.

The Psychopath nodded. "Works out rather well this way. Now I don't have to beat her with my violin. Would have regretted that."

"Really?" The DI asked, surprised.

The Psychopath looked up confused. "Of course, it's a very valuable instrument."

"Psychopath," Anderson muttered under his breath.

"Actually, I'm the one that shoots people for a living," the Husband said cheerfully as he hobbled past him. "Sherlock catches people like me."

Anderson heard the DI snicker in the background and the Psychopath scowled. "Being a soldier is completely different, John. High-functioning sociopath, Anderson, do your research."

"Tell that to my drill serjeant, Sherlock. What did you need?" The doctor knelt down by the body painfully.

The Psychopath gave his pet husband a small smile. "He was rather enthusiastic, wasn't he? How did she die?"

The doctor chuckled with a nod and then turned his full attention to the woman in pink.

Final Score: Watson: 6; Anderson 1.5

Tell me did you really expect _Anderson _to win?


End file.
